Talk About It
by prepare4trouble
Summary: They don't talk about Crowley's fall. Well, apart from the times when they do. Little slips of the tongue, drunken comments, and heart-to-hearts over the millennia.


Out of the corner of his eye, Aziraphale carefully watched the demon by his side. He took great care to ensure that Crawly didn't actually know that he was being observed, although he was unsure how successful he was at being sneaky. It wasn't in his nature, after all. He suspected that that was more the demon's forte.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Crawly — he did, although he couldn't for the life of him work out why — it was simply that he didn't want to be caught in the act of looking. He wasn't sure why that was either; he was, after all, supposed to be keeping an eye out for demonic activity, but it felt almost as though there was something sinful in his gaze. Something that would be frowned upon by Heaven

Of course, this whole thing would be frowned upon by Heaven. He was supposed to be thwarting the demon, not having a nice conversation with him.

Although, thinking about it, was there really any reason why he couldn't do both?

Surely by the act of having a nice conversation, he was preventing Crawly from getting on with the other evil deeds he probably had planned for the day. He was distracting him, making sure that all the evil had to be put off until later, when he probably wouldn't have the time to get it all done.

And if Aziraphale got to enjoy himself a little in the meantime, well, what was wrong with that? He was doing what he was supposed to do, wasn't he? Why shouldn't he enjoy his work?

"So," he asked, straightening his tunic and brushing off a little dust that had gathered there. "What have you got planned for the rest of the day?"

Crawly shrugged. "Not much. I've got a temptation booked in for this afternoon though. I'm supposed to encourage some guy to abandon his wife and kids."

Aziraphale frowned disapprovingly. "That's terrible! Why would you want to do that?"

"I don't want to do it, angel. I've been told to do it. You know how it is; orders come up from downstairs, and you have to get them out of the way before you can get on with having fun. Anyway, it's fine. He's not exactly a stand up guy anyway, just needs one little thing to tip the scales in Hell's favour. The family are going to be better off without him, trust me."

Aziraphale folded his arms. "And how exactly will they be better off without him? There aren't a lot of employment options for women in this part of the world. Or most places in the world for that matter. Not yet. If she's got mouths to feed…"

"Relax, angel," Crawly told him. "She's going to inherit some land soon. Very fertile land, as it happens. She'll start growing crops and before she knows it she'll have built herself a nice little business. She'll be set for life."

Aziraphale looked at him critically. "And you know that, do you?"

"Yep. Because I'm going to make it happen. Just because I'm a demon doesn't mean I have to be heartless, you know."

Until recently, Aziraphale might have said that that was exactly what it meant, but he didn't believe that anymore. He had seen how much the demon cared. Too much for his own good sometimes. But what he was talking about here sounded… "But Crawly, that sounds like a miracle. Demons can't just go around doing miracles, can they?"

He shrugged "Why not? As long as the work gets done, head office leave me alone. They're not interested in what else I get up to. It's all about ticking the boxes, angel. They want his soul, they don't care what happens to her."

Aziraphale frowned. It made sense, in a way. And he certainly wasn't going to discourage the demon from doing good. He just didn't really understand how such a thing were possible. After all, it would be like him doing evil, and he certainly wasn't going to do that.

But then, the demon really did seem to genuinely care for humanity, as though this was more than just an assignment that occasionally got to him. He had more compassion than most of the angels in heaven put together.

If Aziraphale was the kind of angel that asked questions, and he categorically was not, he might find himself wondering why Crawly had fallen while more ruthless angels like Michael and Sandalphon remained in Heaven.

Of course, it wasn't his place to ask. If the Almighty had willed it so, that was all that he needed to know.  
Still, it seemed cruel, somehow.

"Crawly, why…" he began.

"Anyway, wealthy businesspeople are all kinds of corruptible," Crawly added, as though he hadn't heard the angel speak. "We might get her too, somewhere down the line. Kids and grandkids too, one day, if we play it right. When they're old enough to make bad choices. But in the meantime, nobody starves to death. Win-win."

"I…" That made more sense, although he got the distinct impression that the demon was just trying to justify it to himself. "I suppose so," Aziraphale agreed.

"You can come with me if you want," Crawly offered. "I mean, if you're not busy. Hey, I'll even let you do the miracle part if you want, that way you can report back another evil deed thwarted."

Aziraphale shook his head. "Oh, no. I don't think I… it sounds a little dishonest, don't you think?"

"Suit yourself," Crawly said. "It's getting done regardless, and I'm not going to get any credit for it. Just thought somebody might as well."

"I really don't…" Aziraphale began, then sighed. "Fine. Yes, why not? And we could always get dinner afterward, if you're feeling peckish."

After all, that would stop him getting up to more evil too, wouldn't it?

.

* * *

.

"May I ask you something?" Aziraphale asked one day over post-dinner drinks in an inn somewhere in the area that would one day be called the Middle East.

Crawly shrugged. "Well, you'd better hope you can, because you just did," he said.

"Oh!" Aziraphale said. He laughed. "Good point. Well then, may I ask you something el… oh." he shook his head. "Perhaps I shouldn't ask anyway."

Crawly looked at him curiously. "Well now you're going to have to."

He didn't have to. He could still change his mind; make some excuse, or ask something else. How long the demon was going to be in town for, or whether he had found comfortable lodgings… actually, not that. It might be misconstrued as an invitation.

But no. He was a terribly nervous liar. He was certain that Crawly would see through any ruse. "The thing is," he said. "I've been wondering about something, but I'm not sure whether it's the kind of thing that I'm allowed to ask."

Some emotion passed over the demon's face; a flicker of something that Aziraphale couldn't quite recognise. He regarded him in silence for a moment, considering, then he shrugged. "Up to you," he said. "Questions can get you into trouble though."

Aziraphale hesitated. "I was just wondering, what was it like? When you fell…"

The demon turned away. "I… didn't fall," he told him quickly.

Aziraphale frowned. "You didn't? You weren't an angel before, then? But I thought…"

"I was. A long time ago."

"Then how…"

Crawly shook his head. "Some other time, angel. I'm not nearly drunk enough to talk about this right now. And quite honestly, I doubt you really want to hear it." He downed the remainder of his drink in a single gulp, got up, and headed quickly for the door.

Aziraphale stared after him, unsure what to do. It wasn't as big a world as the humans seemed to believe, and he didn't doubt that they would run into each other again, but it might be years; decades even. Or more. He couldn't leave things like that.

He glanced at his plate, then in one slid movement, grabbed the half-eaten pastry, jumped up from his stool and hurried after the demon.

He caught up to him on the corner of the street and fell into step beside him. Crawly acknowledged his presence with a sideways glance.

"I shouldn't have asked that," he said.

Crawly shrugged. "You know, I fell the other day, actually."

Aziraphale frowned, confused. "Oh?"

"Yup. Flat on my face in the dirt. Tripped over my own feet. Sometimes I forget I have them, you know?"

.

* * *

.

Wine was one of the real pleasures of the world, Aziraphale thought to himself as he took a sip from the cup in his hand. He breathed in deeply through his nose savouring the aroma just as much as the rich flavour. The wine that they were drinking was, of course, a much better quality than the wine that the bartender had poured into his cup.

In fact, it was entirely possible that the wine they were drinking was the best one that had ever been consumed in this small taverna just north of Athens, and judging by the confused look on the face of the bartender, nobody had ever been so enthusiastic about it before.

"Wine's one of ours, of course," Aziraphale declared, continuing a conversation that they had kept coming back to for centuries.

In the seat next to him, Crowley grinned. "You sure about that?"

Aziraphale glanced suspiciously into his cup. "It's not?"

"I dunno. Could be. But it seems to me that alcohol is probably one of Hell's." He was slurring his words, just slightly, but enough to tell Aziraphale that the demon was drunk. That was okay, Aziraphale was drunk too. Probably more so than Crowley, since he had been here for at least an hour waiting before the demon had turned up.

Aziraphale took another sip; he wasn't going to let an insignificant detail like the fact that it might be an instrument of darkness get in the way of him enjoying a drink. After all, if you believed Crowley, Hell was responsible for all kinds of things that he just couldn't do without, and it wasn't like the demon actively avoided things created or influenced by Heaven. Well, apart from the things that could hurt him, of course.

"It could even be one of theirs," Crowley suggested, swinging his cup around the room to indicate the other inhabitants. "Humanity comes up with all kinds of things by themselves now. They're really coming into their own as a species, if you ask me. It's one of the things I like best about them."

"Yes," Aziraphale said. He refrained from mentioning that humanity could only do that because the ability to do so had been granted to them by the Almighty who was, of course, firmly on Heaven's team. To bring that up would be to admit that Heaven was, by extension, also responsible for all the terrible things that humanity had done, and there were far more of those than he liked to admit. "Yes; humanity. Perhaps it is one of theirs."

"But hangovers, they're ours," Crowley said.

Aziraphale frowned. "Really?" Honestly, he had always assumed they were Heaven's handiwork, a failsafe put in place to make sure there was a price to pay for a night of drinking. You couldn't have people thinking they could have the good without the bad, after all, or they would be cultivating a planet full of hedonists.

Luckily for him, as an angel, he could remove the alcohol from his system before he needed to deal with a hangover, meaning that he could drink all night without having to worry about the morning after. He finished his cup.

"I should be going soon," he said. "But one more for the road?" He poured himself another cupful and topped up Crowley's at the same time.

The bartender stared at them in consternation, obviously baffled as to how a single jug of wine had lasted two men the whole night without needing to be refilled once.

He raised his cup to Crowley, who clinked his own against it, and they both downed the contents in one gulp.

As he got to his feet, Aziraphale was hit by the sensation of the room spinning. It was odd, because he had been sure it had been completely still before. He clutched at the table to steady himself, but missed. His hand passed through air, and he found himself heading to the ground far more quickly than felt like a good idea.

He hit the stone floor of the taverna with a knee and a hand, catching his arm on the edge of the table as he went down. A shockwave of pain flared through his knee, up his leg and into his back. His wrist throbbed in a way that told him that, while it probably wasn't broken, it definitely wasn't in peak condition.

He looked up at Crowley. There appeared to be two of him, still seated at the table above him, with an amused grin on both of his faces. Aziraphale blinked and forced the two images to come together into one.

Crowley laughed. "See! Alcohol's definitely one of ours."

He offered a hand, which Aziraphale gratefully accepted, and pulled him back to his feet. As he stood, the pain in his wrist and his knee abated suddenly. He looked sharply — well, as sharply as a very drunk angel can — at Crowley. He certainly hadn't healed himself, and there was only one other person in the room that could have.

"Thank you," he said, a little sheepishly.

Ordinarily, Crowley would have rejected the offer of thanks, concerned that his superiors might pick up on it. Healing an angel after a drunken fall was not high on Hell's to-do list, and ordinarily, Aziraphale would have remembered that and not said anything. But tonight they were both feeling very drunk, and very careless.

"Any time," Crowley said, and Aziraphale suspected that, in the moment at least, he meant it.

Aziraphale brushed the dirt from his clothing, and smiled shyly. "I suppose I'm a fallen angel now too," he said, then cringed internally as the words reached his brain a split second after they left his lips. "Um… I mean…" he stammered.

Crowley was staring at him like he had absolutely no idea how to respond, and Aziraphale didn't blame him one bit.

"I mean because I, you know…" He pointed to the floor. "…fell."

"Oh, I get it," Crowley said. "Funny."

Aziraphale looked away.

"They have a comedy night here," Crowley told him. "Tuesdays. Maybe you should come back for it."

"Oh, I think I'll have moved on by then," Aziraphale said. "I'm only meant to be here for a couple more days."

Crowley looked at him critically, like he was still trying to decide how to respond. Aziraphale felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment, but if he could just steer the conversation away from his horrible faux pas before they parted ways, maybe, just maybe, it would be forgotten. Or at the very least not end up being the last thing he ever said to the demon.

"Yeah, me too," Crowley told him. "I'm just in town for a couple of quick temptations, then I'm out of here.

Aziraphale felt a now familiar twang of regret that they would soon be parting ways. In one fluid motion, he refilled his cup and went to take a gulp. Crowley caught his hand before he could drink any more. "I think you've had more than enough, don't you?"

He thought about it, then nodded. "Quite," he said. He put the cup down on the table, miracled a couple of extra coins for the bartender then took an unsteady step toward the door. He didn't want to be drunk anymore, but he couldn't sober up here; it would attract too much attention.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Crowley do a quick visual sweep of the room before he moved to Aziraphale's side and gripped him tightly by the arm. "Come on angel," he leaned in a little closer, "lets get out of here before we both end up on the floor."

Aziraphale allowed himself to be led out of the taverna.

.

* * *

.

It was nighttime, and so dark that they could see every one of the stars in the night sky. Crowley had removed the darkened eyewear that he used to disguise his eyes, and stared up at them with a reverence that Aziraphale had never seen in him before.

"They are rather beautiful, aren't they?" Aziraphale said.

Crowley didn't reply. He stared up, rapt, as though lost amongst the points of light.

Aziraphale had often looked up, on nights like this. He had looked at the moon, and thought of Crowley's offhand comment the first time they had met; why hadn't the Almighty placed the tree more out of reach? And then he tried to stop wondering, because it wasn't his place to know that. It wasn't his place to ask.

"Do you ever wonder what they're for?"

Crowley didn't look away as he shook his head. "They're there for humanity to reach for," he said. "And they will, one day." He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, then back to the stars. "Have you ever been up there?"

Aziraphale frowned. "Up there? In the heavens?"

"No, angel. Not in the heavens; among the stars."

Aziraphale shook his head. "Have you?"

Crowley smiled. "Yeah," he said. "Once or twice. But that was… before. I don't even know if I can get there now, but I know it wouldn't be the same."

Before. When he had been an angel. Before he had committed whatever unforgivable crime had sent him down into Hell. Aziraphale didn't know what the demon had done, but there were times when he wondered what he had been like before, and at times like this, he thought he might know.

"But they'll get there," Crowley said with conviction. "It might take a couple of millennia, but they'll figure it out."

"But how are they going to get there? Build a staircase? They're hundreds of miles away."

Crowley gave him a strange look, like he had said the stupidest thing. "From here? Try billions," he told him. "More. It'll be easier to measure the distances in terms of the speed of light. You know, when they work out that light's actually moving."

Ah. Aziraphale looked up again at the stars and realised that Crowley was right. "Then how are they going to get there?"

The demon smiled. "With their technology. It won't be soon or anything, but they'll come up with something. That was always the plan."

Aziraphale folded his arms and looked disapprovingly at him. "You can't presume to know the Almighty's plan, Crowley. It's blasphemy. And I know you're a demon and that's what you do, but you can't know."

Crowley shrugged. "Never said Her plan. That part was mine."

"Yours..?"

"And when they get there, I'm going to go with them; watch them discover everything we put out there."

Aziraphale had to admit, blasphemy or not — and he was leaning toward not, actually — that sounded nice.

"You can come too, if you want," Crowley told him. "I mean, if I'm going, Heaven's going to want an agent there too, isn't it?"

Aziraphale smiled. He took a step closer to the demon and joined him, looking at the stars. If Crowley went, he would go too. He wouldn't miss it for the world.

.

* * *

.

"What was it like to fall, Crowley? Was it awful?"

The demon shook his head. "How would I know? I told you before, I didn't fall. I…"

"Sauntered vaguely downward," Aziraphale finished for him. "Yes, you might have mentioned. You know, I know it doesn't work that way."

Crowley shrugged. "Doess. Did. In my case."

Aziraphale picked up on the quiet hiss at the end of the word, a sure sign of stress or anxiety. He knew that he should stop pushing, but he wanted to know.

"Tell me about it?" he asked.

Crowley shook his head. "Some other time. Not in the mood right now."

"Bad memories?"

"Not really. Just… difficult ones."

Aziraphale nodded.

"Anyway, you know, it's rarely the fall that's the problem," Crowley added. "It's the landing you need to worry about."

.

* * *

.

"I don't understand how they do it," Aziraphale said, staring in disbelief at the monitor of the computer.

"How who do what?" Crowley asked. He leaned in a little closer and examined the monitor. He couldn't see anybody doing anything there, just some words and numbers on an off-white page. This computer thing was going somewhere, he was sure of it. He just didn't see the point in getting into it now, when it was in its infancy. Maybe in twenty, twenty five years or so, when they could really do something impressive.

Honestly, he was sure Aziraphale had bought the thing just so he could go around telling people he was the first angel to do so. Only he couldn't tell that to the humans, who would just think he was crazy, and he couldn't tell Heaven about it, because they would be spectacularly unimpressed, and so Crowley suspected that the one person that was going to be hearing about this for the next thirty years or so, was himself.

He had mentioned it twice already, and the computer had only been delivered that morning.

"Humans," Aziraphale explained. "How do they come up with things like this?"

"They ask questions," Crowley told him. "They ask what it would be like if something existed, then they ask themselves how to make it, and then they just go ahead and do it, and if it doesn't work, they ask why not. What you're looking at there, angel, is the product of six thousand years of questions, and enough imagination to answer them for themselves."

"And I'm just going to use it to do my taxes."

Crowley laughed. "I'm sure they'll come up with more entertaining uses for them soon enough."

"Six thousand years… That's a lot of questions," Aziraphale said, awestruck.

Crowley shrugged. "Not all of them were good ones. But that's the thing with humans, they're allowed to ask. If humans were angels, they'd have all fallen a long time ago."

Aziraphale looked sharply at the demon, but he didn't appear to have realised what he had said. Either that, or he didn't care. Aziraphale chose not to mention it. He allowed his fingertips to lightly brush the surface of the keyboard. "I wonder why they arranged the letters in such a strange pattern," he mused.

.

* * *

.

"Your eyes really are captivating," Aziraphale said, one drunken evening after hours in the bookshop."

Crowley flinched. He recovered quickly, but immediately directed his gaze elsewhere. He had removed the shades a few drinks in, and they rested on the table at the other side of the room where he had left them, out of easy reach. Aziraphale saw him glance over there as though he regretted leaving them so far away.

"I'm…" Aziraphale began, then hesitated. He didn't want to apologise; he hadn't said anything wrong. Although of course he had, he just didn't know why. "I didn't mean anything by that," he said instead, which also wasn't true, he had meant exactly what he had said, no more and no less. "I'm sorry if I… it's just been some time since you've let me see them, and…" And, truth be told, he had missed them.

"It's not about letting or not letting you see them, angel," Crowley told him. "It's the rest of the world." He was, Aziraphale noticed, still looking away. "It's easier to cover them up than it is to have to put all that effort into making people not notice. Do you know how much work it is to keep something like that up all the time? Honestly, the day humans finally invented sunglasses was the day I relaxed in public for the first time."

Aziraphale nodded. He supposed something like that would be difficult. "It wasn't a complaint," he assured him. "I understand that humans might not react well. I just wanted to let you know that they are beautiful."

Crowley folded his arms and still didn't look at the angel. Aziraphale was beginning to wish that he hadn't said anything. "How about another drink?" he said, and raised the bottle of wine. A peace offering, although he genuinely hadn't intended to make war.

"They didn't always look like this," Crowley said in response. He turned, eyes cast downward and held out his glass for a top-up.

Aziraphale obliged, filling his glass almost to the brim.

"The colour they used to be, it doesn't even exist anymore. Or maybe it does. Maybe it's just one of the ones I can't see anymore." He shrugged a little sadly. "I never told anyone, cos that kind of thing was frowned upon up there, but I was a bit proud of them, actually. Daft, really. It's not like I had anything to do with creating them."

Pride was definitely frowned upon in Heaven. But then it was something that Aziraphale had indulged in too, on occasion. Along with one or two other sins. What Gabriel didn't know wouldn't hurt anybody.

"Well, I'm sure they're every bit as lovely now," Aziraphale told him. "Just in a different way." He got the distinct impression that he wasn't having the desired effect. It had been a simple, throwaway comment made in the moment, under the influence of several bottles of wine. He hadn't intended it to turn into this.

Whatever this was.

"Yeah, well now they're specially designed to make things difficult for me," Crowley told him, with no small hint of bitterness. "They screwed them up specially for me."

Aziraphale frowned. "Whatever do you mean?"

"They don't see so well. Not as bad as most snakes, but not as well as you. When we look up at the stars, you can see a lot more of them than I can, angel.""And this was… by design?"

The demon shrugged. He had ceased his attempt to direct his gaze away by now. He took a long sip of his wine. "I always figured, yeah. I was proud of them too, you see, and much less subtle about it. But then it's not like I can ask her, is it?"

Of course not. Aziraphale folded his arms tightly. He couldn't ask either. He hadn't spoken to God in so long he could barely remember the sound of her voice, anyway, that wasn't a question he was supposed to be interested in knowing the answer to.

"I'm sorry," he said, in lieu of anything better to say.

Crowley shrugged. "S'okay. It's meant to be a punishment, remember?"

That didn't make it okay. In fact that made it worse. The fact that something may have been done simply to hurt Crowley, and to continue hurting him for thousands of years, made Aziraphale both angry and profoundly sad.

"You're right though," Crowley said, after the silence had stretched from uncomfortable to excruciating. He topped up each of their glasses, a sign that the night wasn't over and that Aziraphale hadn't blown it quite as badly as he had believed. "They do look pretty cool, don't they?"

.

* * *

.

It was an inconvenient fact of inhabiting a human body that it left one subject to certain sensations that one would not experience as a being purely celestial in nature.

Aziraphale had never felt terror like this before. The fact that his heart was beating so hard and fast that it felt as though it was trying to break out of his chest only served to amplify the sensation.

Although, it wasn't actually his chest, it was Crowley's. Which was strange in and of itself.

The worst part was not knowing when Heaven and Hell would make their move. It was an absolute certainty that they would make a move; he and Crowley wouldn't be allowed to get away with what they had done. The question was, what would they do, and when?

The not knowing was almost worse than the punishment.

Only, no. It wouldn't be. He was quite sure of that.

Really, there were only two things that Heaven could do to him; they could kill him, or they could make him fall.

They had a plan, of course. If their respective head offices opted for execution, they should be safe. Crowley, disguised as Aziraphale, would take on hellfire, while Aziraphale, wearing Crowley's body, would happily step into holy water. An execution attempt was actually the preferred option.

Which was why Aziraphale was sure that Heaven would choose a different path. They had never, at least not to his knowledge, executed an angel. The way rebellious angels were dealt with was well documented.

Hence the soul-crushing terror.

"Relax," Crowley told him. "They're not going to do anything tonight."

It was uncomfortable, seeing himself standing in front of him. He had inhabited that body — or one exactly like it — for over six thousand years. Crowley's felt strange, like it didn't quite fit right. He adjusted his posture, straightened his back and squared his shoulders. The body resisted, as though it wasn't designed to do that.

"You don't know that," Aziraphale insisted.

Crowley shrugged. "True, but think about it. We're talking about Heaven and Hell working together, right? That means all the creativity of Heaven, plus Hell's expertise in torture. They know that sometimes the waiting is the worst part. They'll draw it out a bit, at least. Honestly, I'd be disappointed in them if they didn't."

Aziraphale gave in to the body's desire to slouch. He didn't have the energy to fight it. "How long?" he asked.

"No way to tell. Tomorrow? Next week? Two years down the line?"

The slouch became a slump. It wouldn't be two years. Heaven would be impatient.

He sat down on a bench and put in the effort to sit up straight. "Crowley?" he asked.

Crowley sat down next to him at the other side of the bench and looked at him expectantly.

"Will you tell me now?"

"Tell you what?"

If he was going to fall, he needed to know what to expect. He didn't honestly believe that it would help him, but at least if he knew, he would be prepared for it.

"We don't know what they're going to do," Aziraphale said. He waved a hand at the body that he was currently inhabiting. "This will protect us from hellfire or holy water, but if Heaven decide that I should fall for my…"

"That won't happen," Crowley interrupted. "Like I said, they're going to be working with Hell on this, I'm almost certain of that. You think Hell want to have to deal with you instead? No, they'll go for the easiest option, and that's to eliminate us both." He paused, and shrugged. "Or try to. Personally, I can't wait to see their faces when they realise they can't."

Unless, of course, they figured out what they had done. If that was the case, things were going to be very bad indeed.

"And when they do realise that they can't?" Aziraphale asked. "You think they're just going to let us go?"

"Maybe. I hope so. But I know what they're not going to do. Anyway, even if they did, it wouldn't be so bad. Tickles a bit."

Aziraphale shook his head. "Crowley, please. I need to know."

"No you don't. You've been trying to get me to talk about this for five thousand years, and now you've convinced yourself it's going to happen to you, so you want reassurance that it's not as bad as you're thinking. I get it. But what if it's worse? What if I tell you, and it's worse than you ever imagined? What are you going to do then?"

Aziraphale folded his arms. Honestly, he didn't know.

"And if I tell you want you want to hear; are you going to believe me, or are you going to decide I'm lying? I'm a demon, it's what we do, right?"

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale told him. "I never should have said that to you." He got the distinct impression that he had told more lies than Crowley over the course of their friendship.

"So whatever I say, you're going to work yourself into some kind of angelic anxiety attack, which is exactly what you're doing right now anyway, so it's not going to make any difference. So stop. Breathe. Think about all those things we didn't lose when the world didn't end."

Aziraphale tried. He thought about humanity. He thought of the restaurants that he loved, and the food that he had tasted over the years. He thought about music, and strolls through the park as the sun set. He thought about cosy little pubs with a real fire burning in the hearth, and a mug of cocoa on a chilly autumn day. He thought about sharing all of it with Crowley.

He took a deep breath and tried to force himself to relax. As he did, he looked upward, at the sky above him. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, without success. He could make out the stars, but barely. A hint of their existence, just enough to make him want more.

"Crowley," he said. He nudged the demon with his elbow and pointed skyward. If he couldn't make out the stars through Crowley's eyes, that meant that perhaps through his…

He turned to look, and saw Crowley staring transfixed at the stars above him. His eyes — Aziraphale's eyes really, but he had happy to lend them for this — open wide as though that would allow him to take more of it in. A smile spread slowly across his face and and despite himself, Aziraphale couldn't help but smile too.

.

* * *

.

"It hurt," Crowley said, out of the blue one evening.

Aziraphale looked up from the book he had been reading, concerned. "What did?"

Crowley said nothing. Instead, he got up from the chair where he had been sitting and prowled across the room and back, pacing.

Aziraphale reached up and carefully removed the reading glasses he had been wearing. He closed his book and placed them on the top of it.

"It burned," Crowley continued. He took another few steps, then stopped and sat down again. He trained his gaze at the ground between his feet. "It was like I was on fire from the inside out. It was the only thing I could feel. I barely even noticed that I was falling until I hit the ground."

Aziraphale got to his feet. He walked across the room, and perched next to the demon on the sofa. His hand found Crowley's and their fingers intertwined. He squeezed gently. "You don't have to do this," he said.

"It wasn't ground though," Crowley continued. It was sulphur, so hot it had liquidised and started to boil. Do you know how hot it has to be to do that?"

Aziraphale shook his head.

"Me neither. I looked it up once though. It was hot. It felt like the flesh was boiling off my bones. Maybe it did because the thing that slithered out of there didn't look much like the thing that landed in it."

"Crowley…" Aziraphale began, but he had no idea what to say.

"But it was what came after it that was the worst of it," Crowley continued, as though he hadn't heard Aziraphale. "All around me there were other demons in the exact same position. We didn't understand yet, none of us did. We didn't know what had happened… or, I didn't, anyway. It was loud. All around me there was screaming, crying, begging. Praying, even, for all the good it would do. Everything stank of fire and sulphur, and everything hurt. I was surrounded by other demons, but I'd never felt more alone.

Aziraphale's hand tightened around Crowley's. The demon didn't react, as though he hadn't even noticed, lost in the memory.

"I couldn't feel God's love anymore," he continued. "It was just… gone, just this gaping void where it used to be. And without it I… I couldn't… nothing felt the same anymore. There was no joy. No creativity. No happiness. You can't even imagine, angel. You don't want to. I was changed, fundamentally changed. I found myself crawling on the ground, even my body had been taken from me and I didn't care. Without that connection, it just didn't matter. Nothing did."

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale said. He couldn't think of a single thing to say. After so long waiting for him to open up, he felt like he should at least be able to say one word of comfort, but he couldn't. He could barely think. "I had no idea," he said.

Crowley remained silent. Of course he had had no idea; that was how Crowley had wanted it. That was why he hadn't spoken about it for six thousand years. He suspected that he still didn't know. Not really. How could he?

"Do you still feel that way now?" Aziraphale asked. He didn't really want to know the answer to that, but he needed to. He had started this conversation, all those years ago. He needed to follow it through.

Crowley shook his head. His hand felt warm in Aziraphale's. "Not anymore."

A spark of hope burned through him at that. "You felt Her love again?"

Another head shake. "I can't. That's part of the whole 'demon' deal. But I found something better. Yours."

Aziraphale suppressed a gasp. It felt like blasphemy, but at the same time there was something so pure behind the words that he couldn't bring himself to speak against him. He held his breath, trying to decide what to do.

Slowly, Crowley extracted his hand from Aziraphale's and got to his feet. "I should go," he said.

Aziraphale remained where he was, the ghost of Crowley's touch still lingering on his hand.

"Wait," he said, as Crowley reached the door, eyes already covered by his sunglasses.

The demon turned to look at him. Aziraphale took a deep, shaking breath and expelled it slowly. "Please don't go," he said. "We could…" he faltered. There was plenty that they could probably do, but really, right now, all Aziraphale wanted was for the two of them to be there, together.

Crowley looked at him, waiting for him to finish the thought. His expression slowly morphed into understanding. He continued to look for a moment or two, considering what to do, then walked back into the room, sat back down on the couch and nodded.

"Sounds good, angel. What have you got to drink?"


End file.
